Why speak of the happy home where Joseph Rancy dwelt with his beautiful lady-love? Why tell of all that wedded bliss which people for the most part in our world have heard of already, or else desire in an especial manner to hear of, and to know. And why say that all the teachings and advice which the Spirit deigned to administer to these two blest mortals, was ever received and heeded by them with the utmost care and gratitude? Do you believe in dreams? No! Why not? Have you, indeed, yet to learn, that through them the good spirits whisper to us advice, and peace, and warning, and consolation! Are you so cold and dull as to believe there are no ministering spirits, no guiding guardian angels? Do you, _can_ you scornfully repel the idea that the forests and mountains, the oceans and the plains, have their myriad viewless _intellectual_ inhabitants? Ah, foolishly unwise, may these powerful agents have mercy on you, and charitably bear with your shameful, willful blindness! What then—must I set you down as more ignorant and unlearned than even simple Joseph Rancy? Fling all your book-learning aside and be a very child in all knowledge, I beseech you, if that will give you faith in these surrounding millions, to believe in them, and a keen mental eyesight to behold them. And do not, above all things, dare to brave the possible malignance of Rob Horn, that is, if you regard the preservation of your worldly wealth. Gather not in your harvests, and your winter stores, while he is gazing full upon you, rather follow honest Joseph’s example, shear all shearable sheep, reap in the wealth of your apple-trees, and massacre your swine while Rob is sleeping in the shade of the mountains, just before he awakens from his slumber to gaze openly upon your doings. And if you manifest your faith in my story in no other way than in doing this, I shall be satisfied, and feel, whether you admit it or not, that I have for once “well done.” * * * * * [Illustration: THE MIRROR OF LIFE.] _Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine_ _BY W. A. WILMER FROM A PICTURE BY W. A. CONORROE_ * * * * * THE MIRROR OF LIFE. [SEE ENGRAVING.] Sweet child, whose gentle eyes upon The mirror’s polished surface rest, Thy heart no grief has ever known, No anxious care disturbs thy breast. O, may the coming time, to thee Calm as the present ever prove; And she who guards thy infancy Live years of rapture in thy love. —ANNA. * * * * * TO THE THAMES, AT NORWICH, CONN. BY MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.